


Forty Three

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: There is a number of small things [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Memories, Dreams, M/M, Sexual Content, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know that it cannot always be like this, and I wouldn’t want it to be, but I wouldn’t trade today for any number of tomorrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Three

**Author's Note:**

> Sometime you just have to flip over the coin to see the other side.
> 
> This is a partner piece for Devour, consider it the other side of the coin.
> 
> For Theodore, you know who you are.

_“I don’t want to play with you, leave me alone.” The words are surprisingly astute for someone so weedy and small and the way his eyes narrow around the shocking blue makes you feel odd, even if you wont accept or understand the reasoning behind it for years to come. “I don’t want to play with you either but my mother says I have to.” Your reply is meant to be scathing but comes across as pouty instead. Why was this boy here in your home invading your space and your precious time? Your mother had instructed you to play nice and be civil to him and that he was the son of one of your father’s associates. You had wanted to throw a tantrum right in the middle of the library but instead you simply nodded and jutted out your bottom lip, determined to find a way to skirt around this responsibility. Now here you were, smack in the middle of a narrow-eyed stare down with this skinny little boy who was so rough around the edges that you might have laughed at his expense under different circumstances. When he leaves he’s trailing awkwardly behind his father and you snort and roll your eyes and hope he never comes back._

_“What kind of name is Theodore, anyway?” You ask sourly where you sit, cross-legged in the grass a short distance away from him. “What kind of name is Draco?” He replies and your eyes flash with anger as you pick at blades of green relentlessly. Of course he had come back; it seemed that his visits to the manor were increasing with each passing week. You asked him one time why he didn’t just stay at home with his mother and he looked as if you’d slapped him hard across the face—You were mildly satisfied with that reaction until you’d overheard your mother and father talking about him later that night when you were supposed to be sleeping. Your mother felt sorry for him, couldn’t imagine a little boy growing up without a mother. Your father scoffed and brushed it off and said that Theodore would probably be better for it and then made a comment about you that you wish you hadn’t heard. When you crept back to bed that night you didn’t sleep for a long time. You stared at the ceiling and thought about how he looked when you mentioned his mother and you still felt satisfied, but you also felt guilty—Just a little bit._

_“How come you never want to play my games?” The question came after a handful of visits had passed between you. The two of you were still at a stand off and it was becoming dreadfully boring. He might have been odd and rough and unnaturally quiet but he was still here and you couldn’t seem to change that no matter how hard you tried. “Because your games are stupid.” His reply was flat and to the point and he didn’t even bother to look at you when he said it. He was standing a short distance away from you, staring out towards the living walls that surrounded your mother’s gardens.  “And I don’t like you.” He added, almost as an afterthought, and you would never know that he hadn’t meant it._

_“Come on, I want to show you something.” When you trudge off across the lawns towards the gardens you don’t even look back to see if he’s following; you know he will. He always does and you suspect his father has threatened him in a way that is not nearly as nice as the instructions you received from your mother.  “I thought you said we weren’t allowed in there.” He asks, raising a dubious brow at you as you both stand at the entrance to the Malfoy gardens. “I thought you didn’t listen to anything I said.” I replied coolly and then marched right into your mother’s garden and headed down the stone path. “I don’t.” He muttered under his breath as he set off after you, a scowl turning his mouth down sharply. “You have to be careful in here, they are charmed.” You’re peering around the edge of a leafy wall into the topiary garden and although you don’t notice it, it’s the first time that his eyes have actually widened in genuine interest in all the times that he’s been here. The topiary animals are impressive and carved into massive and intricate shapes that have always fascinated and frightened you. “Charmed to do what?” He whispers beside you and you can’t help but smirk smugly thinking you’ve finally managed to pique his interest. “Move mostly, but that Occamy is a bit nasty.” You point to the seemingly harmless bush carved into a female Occamy curled protectively around a small pile of leafy eggs and you nod slowly, grey eyes transfixed. “Good to know.” He adds and then he darts away from you, right into the topiary garden and disappears. Your eyes widen in horror as you realize just how much your father will murder you if you let any harm befall Mr. Nott’s son. “Theodore! Where are you?” It’s been nearly an hour and you haven’t found him yet. You’re annoyance has long since given way to anger and now, fear. What if he’s done something stupid like tripped on his own feet and knocked himself unconscious somewhere? You curse under your breath in an uncanny impression of your father as you creep around the backside of an enormously carved Sphinx, hands balled into fists so tight that your knuckles are translucent. When you find him he’s lying flat on his back in the grass behind the bushy animals and your insides turn to ice because you think he is dead. It’s only after he moves that your fear quickly turns to anger and your eyes narrow cruelly as you stand over him. “I don’t like you either.” You spit out and then you turn away from him and leave him alone in the gardens. You feel stupid and angry and you don’t care what your mother says at that moment; you just want him to go away and never come back. He stares after you a long time after you leave and you will never know how much your statement wounded him._

_“I’m going to teach you how to fence properly.” The two of you are older now. Time has passed and he’s still finding his way to the manor and you both have come to terms with that. He still acts like he would rather be sinking into the ocean than spending time with you and he still talks to you like you are horribly daft, but you’ve accepted it. On some level you even appreciate him for not tolerating any of your shit. You’ve stopped seeing him as the weedy annoyance and started viewing him as your equal. Of course he doesn’t want to fence but you make him do it anyways. When you cut him with your blade he barely flinches, even though the wound is fairly significant. You wont realize precisely how significant this wound is for years to come, but one day you will revere the scar that will remain long after the blood and scabs and sloppy magic healing spells had gone away._

_“You’re not doing it right, let me see it.” His tone is impatient and different now. You are older, no longer the innocent little boys who stood loathing one another.  He rolls over on the blanket and plucks the omniocculars out of your grasp and you snort but don’t resist otherwise. The night sky hangs overhead and Theodore had suggested that you stargaze, which seems boring and silly, but you do it anyways. He’s close; you can feel the warmth from him ghosting your own form, as the two of you lie there, staring up at the sky through tiny looking glasses set in bronze. When he kisses you on that very same blanket you are thrown into a state of shock. What had he done? You are angry with him for ruining everything and you push him away and the rejection that is mirrored in those blue eyes is something you will never forget; as long as you are breathing.  Theodore didn’t seem to understand that this was not the way things were supposed to be. You are scared and confused and still so angry. It will be a long time before you make up for this single act of a scared little boy still hiding inside his aging counterpart. Theodore doesn’t come around as much anymore and you feel the loss more than you would ever admit. You still can’t admit to yourself that you wish you could take it back, even though you secretly wish it. You want to owl him but you never do, the fear of rejection is too great. That is your forte’, after all. When you sleep you dream of weedy little boys and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen and you never want to wake up._

                                                            -@-

 

There is sun peeking through cracks in the curtains and I can feel its warmth on my eyelids as I lie there and will the dreams to stay, at least a little while longer. Faded visions of two little boys flitter through my mind and I smile in the arms of sleep as I watch them race down a stone path in the middle of a massive garden of flowers.  I’m on the precipice of waking realization and I shift beneath the cool sheets that cover me, my grip on the visions behind my eyelids start to dematerialize.

 

Slowly I open my eyes, squinting in the filtered daylight as I cast a blurry gaze around the bedroom. There is warm body sleeping soundly beside me and I smile again and let him sleep a while longer. My arm lifts and I rest my head on an open palm, staring up at the ceiling as I recall to mind all that I could from my dreams.

 

Dreams that were not nightmares.

 

It has taken me a long time to get to this point; he wasn’t lying when he said the hardest part was letting go.

 

It’s right about here when he shifts beside me, a soft whisper of a sleepy groan escaping him as he rolls over and regards me from behind puffy and hazy blue eyes. “Forty three.” He mutters hoarsely and then he smiles brightly and stretches his arms languidly high over his head.

 

“Forty three.” I repeat quietly and I watch him and silently marvel over everything that he is.

 

Every night can’t be a good one, and we both know that the nightmares will probably never leave for good, but it’s been forty three days since we’ve had to live through one. 

 

He rolls towards me beneath the covers and his arm slides around me, warm and comforting and lazy in ways that make me want to stay right here. All day.

 

“What did you dream about?” He asks as he nestles his head against my chest and his warm breath on my bare skin sets my nerves on end.

 

“You.” I reply simply and my fingertips trace over his skin and watch it pucker with mild satisfaction.

 

He emits a throaty laugh that is not lost on me and says, “Ooh, don’t I feel special.” And I can feel the grin in his voice.

 

“You should.” I reply as my eyes slide closed and I live in this moment, which is so starkly different than anything that I could have ever imagined in the past.

 

He’s shifting again and my arms falls back, allowing him the freedom to do as he pleases. When his mouth closes over mine I feel his warmth and welcome it and it has nothing on the heat of the day that forges on beyond these walls. The kiss is slow like honey and twice as sweet. The sleep that clings to us is slowly falling away, wiped clean with every reverent touch and gentle slide of lips and tongue. His fingertips ignite my bones and revive my soul and everything that we are and have been resonates around us like fluid grace and tangible memories.  His movements are like a never-ending study of him and I and I sigh beneath the weight of it all, eager and at times desperate for just a little bit more.

 

When he whispers ‘I love you’ it splinters my heart in ways that are not unpleasant. He’s covering me with himself like he’s done countless times before and I exhale a shaky sigh and wrap him up in a little bit of warmth of my own. His foot traces up my shin and a small sigh of contentment passes past my own parted lips. It feels good, _he_ feels good against me and somehow I think that love would never be a big enough word to contain the fire he burns me with. The warm slide of his skin against mine is distracting and my body reacts long before my brain seems to catch up. He’s moving subtly enough that it might be mistaken for nothing at all but I know better, and I love him so intensely that it almost hurts.

 

His hot breath is against my throat and I can only shudder softly as my eyes lock with his and a thousand unspoken words pass between us. I need him so much, and just when I think I’ve seen all of him there is to see, he reveals something new and I fall for him all over again.

 

When he parts my thighs with a gentle urge of his knee I oblige him and I don’t miss the sweetest smile that curves the seam of his lips. There is a splayed palm against my chest and he’s pushing himself into a sitting position and I watch him in rapt attention, mouth fallen slightly open in wonder and adoration and _love._ This time when his hands move over me my skin flushes in his wake and I am certain that I would willingly give him anything he wanted without question.

In a series of slow motion movements we two become one and the way he forges a home inside of me constricts my heart so desperately that I think it might burst into flames. We are like two unique puzzle pieces and I have never been surer that he was made specifically for me than I am in this moment. The corners of his mouth quiver just a little bit when he pauses and I think that I’d really like to keep this moment in time, just the way it was, for always. The air is thick with potential and trust and love and need. My need for him is only matched by his need for me and of this I am certain.

 

There will never be another him and another me and I think I am okay with that.

 

He’s all I need. All I need.

 

My fingertips trace over his skin as he moves over and within me and I can’t take my eyes off of his dark gaze that is still fixed to mine. He feels so perfect and so flawless and I wish we could stay like this forever; without all the distractions and restrictions.

 

Just him. Just me.

_“_ I love you.” He murmurs around a breathy pant and I believe him so much that my insides twist and spasm. I feel everything in those moments, beyond just the sex; he is my kindred—A pair of souls caught between bookends. Always drawn together in the end. Incomplete without the other.

 

“I love you always.” I manage and my eyes burn just a little bit. I wish I could say something more profound, but I think that he knows. He knows everything about me, after all.

 

After this everything changes; his movements above me are more erratic and somehow concentrated. He tosses his head back and a soft sigh of pleasure dances past his lips. I can already feel the twist of ecstasy inside of me, threatening to spill out. He carves out my insides so deeply that I think I can feel everything and nothing all at once. I cry out in a moment of weakness and my eyes flutter shut once again. My insides burn with an intensity that I can hardly bear and when he drops forward to look at me, my eyes immediately find his.

When he takes me in his palm my breath lodges in my throat and he smiles down at me with that coy twist of lips that seems to know everything about me without even trying. I cannot help arching up into him while somehow simultaneously dragging him down and I want to give him everything he’s given me but somehow I know I could never be his equal—Story of my life.

He’s draped over me like the warmest duvet and I’m still panting, still spinning in the haze of it all. I can hear him smiling against my shoulder and I can’t help but smile myself. My arms fold around him and I sigh with contentment and we lie this way a long time.

 

I know that it cannot always be like this, and I wouldn’t want it to be, but I wouldn’t trade today for any number of tomorrows.


End file.
